


feel it (like a fever)

by asterismal (asterisms)



Series: Parent!Voldemort AU [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anonymous Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gratuitously Hot Voldemort, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23136763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: Lily Potter is a woman on a mission.In which James Potter is infertile, and there’s a ritual for everything.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter/Voldemort
Series: Parent!Voldemort AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673431
Comments: 7
Kudos: 169
Collections: Problematic Ships Flash Fest





	feel it (like a fever)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedHorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [RedHorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse) in the [March2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/March2020) collection. 



> A fic showing how Harry came to be Voldemort's son in Where fire feeds on fire
> 
> Voldemort is drunk and battle-high. Lily is high on ritual magic. Neither of them knows who the other is. No one is making good decisions.
> 
> EDIT: changed the title because i wanted to :))

Lily Potter is a woman on a mission.

With runes in black ink curling across her thighs and ritual magic coursing through her veins like liquid fire, she has no room for fear as she pushes open the door to a bar she’s only ever heard whispers of. Back in her Hogwarts days, this place was the subject of many a late-night conversation with the other Gryffindor girls, and if her younger self could see her now, she’d be scandalized in the best way—exhilarated by her own daring. 

Now, all she feels is a burning desperation, spiraling higher with every breath she takes.

On a normal night, this strange little bar just off of Knockturn is just about the _last_ place you’d find her. But tonight is different. 

Tonight is special.

The door swings shut behind her, and the smoky haze of the dimly lit room does nothing to make her feel more grounded. Instead, the murmur of conversations and the soft clink of glassware against polished tables makes the dizzying motion of the world slip even further beyond her grasp, as if she’s miles above this bar and its patrons. 

A rush of cold air nearly shocks her out of it as the door swings open again, and she shuffles obligingly out of the way as a crowd spills in, laughing and stumbling against each other. She follows them out of the doorway, and for all that she feels as if her body is too long and the ground too far away, her feet don’t miss a single step.

As she walks, her gaze is already tracking toward the bar in search of anyone else who might have come here alone tonight.

She’s just about resigned herself to having to look elsewhere when she sees _him_.

While she isn’t blind to his handsome face or the way his dark hair shines in the dim lighting, what truly catches her attention is the way he sways drunkenly in his seat as he holds court with the host of witches and wizards that have crowded around him. 

In one hand, a sparkling glass of amber liquid is cradled protectively. His fingers are long, she notes with a heady sort of awareness. 

The man gestures broadly, and a splash of what could only be firewhisky spills over the rim of the glass to run down the back of his hand. It gleams gold across his pale skin, and Lily watches, chest tight, as he brings his hand to his mouth and _licks_. The sound of a woman’s shrieking laugh breaks some of her focus, and Lily sways in place, surprised at the intensity of the desire she feels.

This is the one, she decides. 

Now all she has to do is get him alone.

She prowls across the room to lean against the bar, only a few seats down from the man and his crowd. When the bartender asks, she orders a shot of something suitably biting and knocks it back as soon as it’s delivered, shivering at the burn in her throat. 

It’s as she’s considering her approach that she’s caught staring.

She locks eyes with a dark-haired woman at the man’s side, and the woman cackles, leaving her stool to stumble into Lily, who grabs her around the waist to keep her from falling. “I couldn’t help but notice, darling,” the woman slurs with a wicked gleam in her eyes, “that you have your eye on our fearless leader.”

Lily is torn between defending herself and asking why it’s any of this woman’s business. “I’m—”

The woman shushes her, leaning heavier against her. “It’s alright, sweetling,” she says, petting at Lily’s hair. She presses her lips to Lily’s ear, and the words tickle against her skin. “You’re hardly the first.” 

“And?” Lily asks with a glare, turning her head so she’s nose to nose with the woman and her shark-like grin. “Are you here to warn me off?” 

If the answer is yes, she might just start a fight. 

“Oh, I _like_ you,” the woman says, still grinning, and Lily squeaks when she leans forward, wrapping her hands around Lily’s neck to pull her into an open-mouthed kiss. The woman bites at her bottom lip, and Lily lets her lips part. When she licks into her mouth, Lily presses closer, determined to give as good as she gets. 

At some point, the empty shot glass is knocked off the bar, and it shatters against the floor. But Lily finds she doesn’t care, too caught up in the woman’s kiss. She clutches at her dark robes and pulls her closer, until she can press their hips together. 

Finally, the woman pulls away. Gasping for breath, Lily asks, “What—?”

“Not bad,” the woman says before she can finish her question, looking pleased with herself. She lifts one thumb, presses it against Lily’s bottom lip, and smirks. She leans closer again then says, like it’s a secret, “I think he’ll like you too.”

When Lily looks over the woman’s shoulder, she sees the man she’s chosen is watching them, intent. 

He lifts his glass to her, and she flushes. 

With a high pitched laugh, the woman slips away, back to the man’s side where, with a few words Lily doesn’t catch, she gathers the crowd around him and ushers them away, toward a booth near the door. 

Swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat, Lily slides off her stool and closes the short distance between herself and the man, the world swaying beneath her with every step she takes. Too soon, and not soon enough, she stands before him.

For a moment, as she stares into his dark eyes, she feels as if she knows him, as if she’s seen him before. She shakes the thought away, and it goes easily, blotted out by the need to get this man alone as quickly as possible. 

“Hi,” she says, breathless, and he grins, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“Hello,” he replies as he leans back against the bar. She steps closer, into the space between his spread thighs. He holds his drink in one hand; the other moves to rest against her waist. He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “Do I know you?”

Lily bites at her lower lip, barely feeling the press of teeth. “Does it matter?” 

The man laughs, and Lily reaches forward to take his glass from his hand, setting it down on the bar instead. He seems amused by her boldness. “I suppose it doesn’t,” he says.

With an eager grin, Lily holds out her hand. 

For a moment, the man only looks at her, considering. Then, with a matching grin spread across his face, he takes it.

As soon as the door to one of the private rooms above the bar shuts behind them, Lily is shoving at the man’s chest, pushing him back and toward the bed. While she’s entirely certain that he could resist, as he is both taller and broader than she is, the man goes willingly, if a bit unsteadily. 

With one final push, the man is sprawled out across the bed, his legs hanging over the edge.

If Lily had been expecting him to do anything, she’d be disappointed. Luckily, all she needs is for him to _be_ _here_. 

She can do the rest.

She strips off her robes, slipping out of her knickers and unlatching her bra, letting the fabric pool at her feet, and the man finally looks away from the ceiling. His pupils are blown wide, and as Lily crawls atop him, her knees bracketing his lean frame, she thinks she could drown in them. 

Unable to help herself, she leans down and kisses him. His lips are thinner than she’s used to, and it takes a moment to adjust. If she were in any state of mind to judge, she might say he’s a good kisser. A decent one, at the very least. 

One large, warm hand presses against her back; the other tangles in her hair and pulls. 

The man’s mouth moves to the line of her jaw, and she can’t help the breathy moan she lets out at the feel of it. The hand on her back moves to her waist, and he shifts beneath her, as if he’s about to flip them. She doesn’t let him. 

“Like this,” she says, insistent, grinding down against the beginnings of a bulge she can feel through his robes, “I want it like this.”

The man hums against the skin of her throat, and she lets out a shuddering sigh as his hand drifts lower, kneading at her arse, her thighs. He must feel the runes there, soaked in magic as they are, because he stops, pulling his hand away. When she looks, she sees that some of the ink has rubbed off onto his fingers, gleaming in the lowlight.

“What—?”

Before he can finish his question, Lily grabs him by the hair and bites at the fragile skin just behind his ear, pressing open mouthed kisses across his jugular, his jaw, and to his lips again. He groans into the kiss, ink forgotten as his hand falls to her hip once more, pushing her body lower, forcing her to grind heavier against him. 

He’s not hard yet, she feels, but he will be.

He pulls her into yet another kiss, and she works at the fastenings of his robes. When she tugs insistently on the fabric, he lifts his shoulders from the bed, and she notes with pleasure the feel of his muscular thighs flexing between her own. 

The movement of his body is dizzying, or maybe it’s the magic. 

Finally, he’s bare before her, spread out like a feast upon the rumpled bedspread, and she breaks away from the kiss to look. 

As she rises up on her knees, she feels as if the whole world is swaying beneath her, moving in time with the unsteady rise and fall of the man’s chest. 

Her head is fuzzy, overfull with pressure that makes her feel as if her skull might burst open, painting the walls and this pale canvas of a man below her in red. Her pulse is beating almost painfully against the skin of her throat, like a drumbeat pushing her ever forward, ever higher. She fears her heart might bound right out of her chest.

He puts his hands on her again, and she can’t help the whine that builds in the back of her throat. 

As the broad, heavy warmth of his hands passes up and over her ribcage, she does her best to breathe through it. He could crush her, Lily thinks, as his fingertips trail across her ribs, and the thought is not distressing but exhilarating. 

Then, his hands curl over her breasts, calloused fingers rough against soft, sensitive skin. One thumb brushes just shy of her nipple, as if by mistake, and she moans in protest, in pleasure. 

She feels as if she’s never been touched before, as if everything is new.

She arcs forward, and the only thing keeping her from falling across his chest is his hands on her. Her hair spills across his skin like coils of dark fire, like a claim, however temporary. 

She thinks she might die if she doesn’t get his skin between her teeth.

As she scrapes her teeth across the delicate skin of his throat, she feels the way his breaths grow deeper, faster, and she shifts, getting one leg between his on the bed. His hips move against her thigh in short, aborted thrusts, and she presses closer, giving him something to grind against. 

His grip on her breasts tightens before he abruptly releases them. One hand returns to her hair, gripping tight near her skull, and she shudders at the bright pain. The other moves lower, the muscles in her abdomen jumping as his feather light touch trails across her belly. She shifts, looking to kiss him again, but he holds her head in place, and she smiles, pressing her teeth obligingly to the mark she’s just made. She licks, relishing in the taste of salt on his skin, and sucks lightly.

The thrust of his hips is more insistent now, and she feels the firm heat of his cock pressed against her thigh. 

She uses one hand to hold onto his neck, squeezing when the pressure makes him let out a hiss of pleasure, and moves the other down between them. She lays it against his thigh, the tips of her fingers just shy of his cock.

“Can I?” she asks as she pants against his throat.

He arches up against her, and she digs her fingers into the meat of his thigh, squeezing as hard as she can.

“Yes,” he finally says. She takes him in hand, deciding not to waste any time, and he shudders beneath her. Again, demanding, “ _Yes_.”

His cock is heavy in her hand, and she laughs when he moans. In retaliation, he tugs at her hair, and she presses a kiss to his throat in apology. 

She thumbs at the head, smearing precome down the length. Even so, his skin is too dry, so she lifts her hand to her mouth.

Before she can begin to lick it, however, he grabs it and brings it to his own. She watches, breathless, as his tongue laps against her palm, curling between her fingers before he sucks two into his mouth. She moans, her entire body lighting up at the wet heat of his mouth. Rocking forward, she feels as if she’s drowning, wave after wave of pressure moving over and through her, dragging her deeper with every pass. If she let herself, she thinks she could spiral forever into this abyss. 

Only the bite of insistent teeth against her fingers drags her back to earth.

Blinking the haze away, Lily curls her fingers against his cheek, scraping at the tender flesh and finding some satisfaction in the resulting bulge in his cheek. He releases her fingers with a pop, and she drags them down his chest, following the line of her fingers to blow cool air against the wet trail. 

He shivers beneath her, gooseflesh spreading across his chest and arms.

She takes him in hand once more, dragging her fist down, the slick of his spit and precome making the slide easy. When she looks away from the motion of her hand, she sees his head thrown back, eyes wide and mouth panting as he stares up at the ceiling, as if he can’t bear to look at her. 

She twists her palm across the head of his cock and wonders how long it’s been since he’s been fucked. 

The thought is enough to make her shiver in anticipation, a new, heady rush of desire radiating through her, until her body feels heavy with it. She shuffles forward, settling only when each upstroke of her hand knocks against her own thigh. Seeing as her partner is too overwhelmed to be of much use at the moment, she uses her spare hand to touch herself, rubbing at her clit before dragging her fingers across her slit.

She hadn’t realized how wet she was until now.

Returning to her clit, she rocks her hips forward against the pressure of her fingers, seeking release to ease the way. As much as she needs to have his cock inside her as soon as possible, she wants it to be comfortable, not just convenient. 

In this, the ritual magic is helpful, and she spirals to new heights with each breath she takes as the pressure builds and builds until, with a wordless gasp, she finds relief. 

Only the solid heat of the cock in her hand, and the promise of what it will feel like inside her, keeps her upright. Her thighs are quivering, but she rises anyway, shuffling forward again until she can drag the head of his cock across the slick folds of her labia. 

The man beneath her lets out a strangled moan, and his hands, which had fallen to clutch at the bedspread, rise to take her hips in hand again, keeping her still.

“Protection?” he slurs, and Lily feels a rush of affection for this man she’s chosen. 

“I took care of it,” she says, and she did. 

James had helped her cast the charms against infection before he sent her off, and seeing as pregnancy is exactly what she wants, she’s not at all concerned about condoms.

When the man looks as if he might protest, might ask what she means and when she had the chance, Lily rocks her hips again, as much as she can. His grip on her keeps her from moving down, but the motion drags her slit across his cock anyway, and with a moan his hold tightens enough to leave bruises as he drags her down heavier against him.

She thinks he must know she’s manipulating him, distracting him, but he lets it happen anyway.

One hand holding his cock, the other on his chest, Lily presses down, chest heaving as she breathes through the rising ache. His fingers are like talons where they clutch at her hips, and she wonders what James will do when he sees the bruises—if he’ll press his mouth to them, cover them with marks of his own.

She feels as if the moment before she’s fully seated lasts forever. 

Endless pressure, endless heat.

She’s so _full_.

It’s difficult to breathe, but she breathes anyway, shifting her hips and reveling in the stunned look on the man’s face. Already drunk, the pleasure strips him bare, and she greedily takes the sight in.

This is the only time she will have him (have anyone but her husband, her _James_ ) like this, but while she has him, she wants _all_ of him.

When his hips buck beneath her, she gasps, falling forward with both hands pressed to his chest. His nails cut against her hips, and she shivers as he keeps moving when she doesn’t protest. She lets him, content for now to give him the lead as she adjusts to the stretch. He moves with little regard for her pleasure, and as she settles into the feeling of having him inside her, the short, inelegant thrusts serve only to make her more frustrated. 

“More,” she says, “Harder.” 

But he ignores her, too busy chasing his own pleasure.

With a snarl, she grabs his hands and forces them to the bed beside his head, and his thrusts stutter to a halt as he stares up at her with wide, dark eyes. The flush across his cheeks grows darker.

“Keep them here,” she commands, tightening her grip on his hands, and the man nods. 

Pleased, Lily begins moving her hips, grinding down in the way that has James begging for more every time. If the groan that spills from her partner’s lips is any sign, he feels the same. She obliges him, moving faster. 

Soon enough, she’s riding him in earnest, and she’s let go of his hands to touch herself as he watches, his chest heaving for all that he’s doing no work at all. His hands clench into fists on the bed, desperate to touch, and she sighs in pleasure, tossing her head back and rubbing circles against her clit. 

She imagines what James would do, if he could see her now. 

Would he touch her too, she wonders, or would he only watch? 

She can almost feel him here with her in the way the ritual magic coils through her. She can feel his touch—his calloused hands rough against her thighs, against her breasts. Shivering, she presses harder at her clit, James’ voice sweet in her ear, urging her on. 

“Touch me,” she says, breathless, and the man beneath her surges up to meet her, his abs clenching as he sits up, pressing his forehead against her collarbone and grabbing her hips in a bruising grip, helping her move faster, harder. 

As she moves, he presses his mouth to one breast, sucking a bruise into the soft skin before lifting one hand to rub at her nipple. She shivers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing impossibly closer as he fucks deeper into her. His mouth still pressed against her skin, he says, “I need—”

But he never finishes, cut off by a moan as she scratches across his shoulders, leaving red marks that must sting.

“Anything,” Lily tells him, breathless, “Take it.”

Before she can blink, she’s flat on her back, her cunt aching at being so empty. She doesn’t get the chance to protest before the man takes his cock in one hand and thrusts back inside her, and she feels as if the air is punched from her lungs, as if she might choke on the feel of it.

As he pants in her ear, his cock fucking into her in a steady, too-quick rhythm, she wraps her legs around his hips and locks her ankles over the small of his back, pulling him closer on each thrust. He turns his head, gets his mouth on her throat again, and she thinks she could die here beneath him.

She thinks she wouldn’t even mind; she’s too busy losing herself in the heavy drag of his cock inside her, the wet heat of his mouth as he bites at her throat, sucking bruises into her skin.

With a shuddering breath, she drags her hands through his hair, pulls until he lifts his head and meets her in a sloppy kiss. 

She bites at his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and his rhythm breaks. 

Feeling lightheaded, with ritual magic coiling through her like lightning, she moves him until she can mouth at the skin behind his ear and scratches one hand down his neck and across his shoulders. He’s so close, she thinks. 

He’s so close she can _taste_ it.

And then, with a bit-off moan, he spills inside her, and she feels the magic take. 

He thrusts one, two, three times more, and she cradles his face in her hands, rolling them over as he pulls out so he’s on his back again. As he gasps for breath beneath her, she looks down at him, pleased beyond words.

She’s done it. 

The runes on her thighs pulse with warmth, and then they fade into her skin. 

As she breathes, one hand pressed to her stomach where her baby—her _baby_ , her _child—_ will soon begin to grow, she feels simultaneously as if she’s run a marathon and as if she could face down a thousand Dark Lords and prevail. It’s the greatest feeling in the world. She thinks she might be crying.

And she is, she realizes when the man reaches up with one hand to wipe her tears away. “What is it?” he asks, concerned. 

Lily only shakes her head. 

How could she possibly explain?

With a breathless laugh, she sways forward and peppers his face with kisses. “Thank you,” she says, kissing his cheek, his brow, his nose. She presses a chaste kiss to his lips and pulls away, beaming. “Thank you.” 

The man laughs, all of his worry eased away. “It was my pleasure,” he says with a smirk.

Deciding that’s worth one last kiss, Lily nuzzles against his cheek then kisses the corner of his mouth. “What about you?” she asks, playing absently with his hair, “Are you alright?”

His smirk softens into a pleased grin. “I am,” he says. 

Lily sighs happily. “Good.” 

As she stares down at him, she knows she’ll cherish this stranger forever for what he’s given to her and her husband, though he doesn’t know it. It’s hardly a fair trade—a little pleasure in exchange for a priceless gift—but she’s glad he enjoyed himself. 

He folds his hands across his stomach as he looks up at her. “Good,” he echoes. “Are you staying?” 

Lily shakes her head, taking that as her cue to get off of him. As she picks her clothes up off the floor, slipping her robe back on and tucking her bra and knickers into an expanded pocket, he watches with a lazy sort of pleasure.

“Thanks again,” Lily says once she’s dressed, reaching out to snag his hand in hers and kiss his knuckles, “I mean it.”

The man smiles, and the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he says. 

Lily laughs. “Maybe you will.”

She releases his hand and slips out the door, making her way back to the main room. As she lets the noise of the crowded room wash over her, the dark-haired woman from before catches her eye. When she lifts her drink, as if toasting Lily’s success, Lily feels a dark blush bloom over her cheeks.

She ducks her head and heads for the door to outside, the woman’s shrieking laugh following her as she goes.

As she steps outside, the cold October air is a sorely needed shock to her system. She breathes in, lets the brisk air clear away some of the fog in her head, and her hand falls to her stomach once more. She should tell James she’s finished, she thinks, that she’s ready to come home. 

She lifts her wand, summons her patronus to send a message. 

It’s easier than it’s ever been. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still undecided on whether canon!Harry was an accident, because I can see potential in either direction. In this fic, however, he was 100% intended from the beginning.
> 
> Anyway, I have so much admiration for people who write smut on a regular basis. Y'all have an incredible gift that I hope to one day emulate. Until then, take this attempt while I go hide for a little bit.


End file.
